Xander wasn't happy to be in a tent, as a famous troll put it. He was normally a happy camper, but he had just been 'volunteered' for Halloween kiddy escort duty.
If it was 'escorting' beautiful women like Willow or the Buffmeister, he'd be all over it. But for some weird, wacky reason the thought of dealing with a horde of screaming kiddies didn't really do anything for him. Something Buffy said dragged him out of his mental anguishing.
"Great," Buffy said. "I was gonna stay in and veg. The one night a year things are supposed to be quiet for me."
"Halloween quiet?," Xander asked. "Oh, I figured it'd be a big ol' vamp scare-a-palooza."
"Not according to Giles," the Slayer said moodily. "He swears that tomorrow night is, like, dead for the undead. They stay in."
"Damn!," Xander said, snapping his fingers. "And those wacky vamps promised me dinner! I think it'd be good for our Fuhrer to get out into the real world -- he can take out my kids. I'm for movies at Chateau La Harris."
"Ah, what about your mum?," Buffy asked. The idea had a certain something...
"You know how normal bars have Happy Hours?," the Xanman asked. "The Fat Lady's Arms has a 'Happy Dawn Till Dawn.'"
"'Nuff said," Willow grumped. She didn't like being reminded of Xander's parent's tendencies, as she hated being reminded of her powerlessness to correct that situation. "You're not getting out of this, Xander. What if the kids came across a serial killer, or, or, a Freddy Krueger psychopath? Maybe someone--"
Xander put a finger on Willow's lips, sealing them. "I've had enough of demon snakes, mummy girls, and vampires. I'm with Buff -- a night off would be in order."
He got up before either of the two girls could argue further, moving over to the can machine to get a coke. He put in two fifty cent pieces in a vain attempt to coax sweet, sweet sugar from the machine before being rudely interrupted.
"Harris!," Larry, one of the school jocks bellowed.
Xander groaned. Just what he needed.
"You and Buffy, you're just friends, right?," the jock continued.
"I like to think of it less as a friendship and more as a solid foundation for future bliss," Xander drawled, in the safe knowledge that Larry wouldn't understand a word.
"So, she, she's not your girlfriend?," Larry hesitantly asked.
"Alas, no."
"Do you think she'd go out with me?," Larry said, looking over at the bleach blonde.
Let's see, Xander thought. If you lost a thousand pounds, got a facial reconstruction, dyed your hair, had a brain transplant with Stephen Hawking, went to a British boarding school... no way in Hell.
"Well, Lar, that's a tough question to... No. Not a chance."
"Why not?," Larry snarled. "I heard some guys say she was fast."
"I hope you mean like the wind," Xander said, a dangerous note in his voice. The oblivious jock didn't notice it.
"Yeah, you know what I mean," the football player grinned.
"That's my friend that you're talkin' about!," Xander protested, knowing the line was lame as soon as he said it.
"Oh, yeah?," Larry challenged. "Well, what're you gonna do about it?"
Xander was already ticked. He'd lost any chances of R&R tomorrow night (he doubted the girls would let him get away with ditching Halloween), and this neanderthal had just given him the perfect outlet.
"Nothing so crude as physical fisticuffs," Xander said softly. "I'm going to slowly destroy you -- I know a lot about mental and physical abuse, the slow torture taught by the ancients."
Heck, part of that statement was even true -- the G-man's books were not filled with sweetness and light.
Larry finally noticed Harris' tone of voice, and his body language. He couldn't back down, though, not after insulting and challenging Harris in public.
"We'll see, Harris."
Buffy appeared behind Xander. "You okay, Xander?"
"I don't know," Xander said. "Am I, Larry?"
Larry gave forth a flat gaze hiding any whiff of intellect.
"Get gone," the Slayer commanded.
"Ooo! Diet!," Buffy whooped, spotting the can of Diet Dr Pepper that the can machine had grudgingly proffered in exchange for money.
"Thanks for the help, Buffy," Xander said. "Next time, leave me to handle it."
"So," Buffy chirped, "see you after school at the costume shop?"
Xander groaned. "Buffy, Buffy, Buffy. Demons in actual flesh have nothing on children in demon costumes."
"I think it would be good for you to go," Willow contributed, joining the two. "It could be a learning experience!"
"No, no, and no again!," Xander said, throwing up his hands. He decided to leave before the girls managed to talk him into helping with Snyder's insane plan.
Buffy flicked through the costumes at 'Ethan's Costume Shop' irritably.
"Stupid Xander," she muttered. "Deserting me!"
Buffy felt perfectly justified in her anger -- she was the Slayer, and had more of a right to a night off on Halloween than Xander. If she had to suffer, so did he.
"We could dress him up and make him come," Willow suggested.
"Er, Will, how do you propose to dress him and get him to Sunnydale High without him complaining?"
Willow dismissed that. "Xander doesn't wake up for anyone. You've seen him in class!"
"Okay," Buffy said cheerfully, "and if he doesn't sleep, we make him sleep! Now, to costumes! Something that he'll hate..."
Hell hath no fury like a woman who is forced to do the dirty work instead of the man.
"We can't get a vampire or a pirate costume then," Willow said, "because he'll crack jokes all night and it won't be very punishing. And I think that it has to be at least slightly smiting, because he's planning on ditching us."
"Okay," the Slayer said. "What does Xander genuinely hate?"
"People who do torture and other nasty things like that," Willow said promptly. "The next question is, who is immediately recognisable as one of those people?"
Both girls' eyes fell on a black robe, a wand, facepaint, and red eye contacts.
"This is gonna be good," Buffy smirked.
"Don't you mean bad?," Willow inquired.
"What-ev-er!"
Xander groaned. The last thing he remembered was the Library. Giles had just handed him a donut, before looking shocked at something behind him. He now had a killer headache.
Great. Just great. A kidnapping, then. At least the last one gave him a drugged martini, rather than a two by four to the head.
"Did anyone get the number of that truck?," Xander groaned, as he felt his head.
What the... why was he in some funny robes? At least the blurry eyesight could be explained away as a side effect of being sent to sleep the hard way.
"Sorry, Xander, but you will not be deserting your duties tonight," a British voice said.
"When I figure out which of you two is the real G-man, you are gonna be an ex-G-man," Xander complained.
"Buffy and Willow took the liberty of dressing you in a suitable costume for your escort assignment," Giles said. "I have no idea who you are supposed to be. Some sort of popular culture actor, I suppose."
Xander got up from the decidedly uncomfortable chair, and took the mirror Giles offered him. He had green facepaint on, with silver delineations indicating scales. Red contacts covered his irises, giving his eyes an evil look. A black robe covered the rest of him, except for his hands which also had the green and silver paint applied.
Hold on one second -- robe?
A brief check with his hand showed that he still had his Levi's on, if not his shirt. At least the girls hadn't stripped him naked.
"I was told to give you this," Giles commented, handing a thirteen and a half inch long yew rod with something in the middle to the be-costumed Xander. "Now, Principal Snyder is expecting you. I'll go with you -- I've finished here for the night."
Xander blinked, connecting the dots.
"I'm... I'm Voldemort?," he asked weakly, letting Giles pull him along.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
Xander grimaced. Thank God the robe muffled the sound somewhat. Buffy and Willow were gonna pay for this.
"Shut up!," he snapped. "Before I do something you'll regret!"
The ten children were immediately silent. One boy was looking at Xander with a 'hero worship' expression in his eyes.
"You are SOOOOOO cool," the boy said. His name was, in an eerie display of coincidence, Elijah MacNair if Xander remembered correctly.
"Now," Xander continued. "For more candy, tears are key. Tears will normally get you enough candy to make you sick for a year. You can try 'you missed me', but most people will not believe that."
"This is sooooo cool," Elijah MacNair said. "You-Know-Who is taking me trick or treating!"
Voldemort snarled as he looked around. One of those soft hearted Ministry of Magic idiots had sent him to some disgusting Muggle village. He immediately touched his wand to his chest, but paused.
His Mark was missing!
"Morsmordre Imperious!"
Fixed. One chest covering Dark Mark re-affixed. Voldemort quickly touched his wand to the new Mark, summoning his Death Eaters. Strange... he couldn't feel the links to his minions...
He spotted a muggle being chased by some sort of Dark creature. How fitting. Then he spotted a simpering idiot of a female weeping under a tree. He'd give her something to cry about!
"CRUCIO!"
The next morning found Buffy in the girls' toilet, being comforted by Willow who was on the verge of tears herself.
"It was all my fault!," the Slayer cried.
Seventy dead, the extra in the newspaper that day proclaimed. Twenty of them with no mark, fifty of them stabbed to death by their family, and a hundred more comatose or insane. The Mayor of Sunnydale was livid, and had made a public statement that the culprit would be caught and forced to submit to the fullest punishment possible under the law.
The image of the green skull with the snake was still hanging in the sky.
"You couldn't know," Willow consoled her friend. "But we should apologise."
Ten minutes later found the two trying the doors to the Library, where Xander was sequestered with Giles. A sign on the door said 'DO NOT DISTURB UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES WHATSOEVER.'
"God, Giles, I killed all those people," Xander stuttered. He was being held tightly by the older man in a hug, manliness be damned. The black mark covering his chest from his neck to his waist was still there.
"It wasn't you," Giles said. "You were possessed. It's all Ethan's fault."
"I should have fought it somehow," Xander said stubbornly. "Then all those people wouldn't be dead."
"The spell was backed up by a God, Xander," Giles sighed. "Let me tell you a story about a Dark Mage called Ripper."
"Who?," Xander asked.
Yes, I've left most of it to your imagination. If someone wants to take this and flesh it out, they're more than welcome.